


Meeting

by Ecrivaisseur



Category: Damien (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6742690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecrivaisseur/pseuds/Ecrivaisseur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Damien Thorn meets the beautiful Ann Rutledge for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This is assuming that Damien and Ann met before the events of 1.01.

Meeting

A Damien One-Shot. 

With a frustrated expression, Damien gazes down at the glass of scotch that he cups with the palm of his hand, watching as the liquid within swirls around in it’s clear confinement with his direction. From a few feet away, a waiter watches him with a skeptical eye, wondering why he has yet to have tasted his drink. Truthfully, Damien could care less about the alcohol in his hands, or the fact that, _technically_ , he’s not old enough to drink yet. At least not in the States he isn't, but that doesn't bother him. He has more pressing concerns than that.

At eighteen years old, Damien Thorn is a handsome, smart and budding young man about to finish his last year at St. Stephen’s International School, the ancient boarding academy he’s been attending for two years now on the Via Aventina in Rome, Itlay. He has about a month left until his graduation and then he can finally depart from that dreadful campus for good and all those pesky brats he’s forced to spend his days and nights with. After that, though, it'll only be a matter of time till he’ll be shuttled off to some ivy league university in the states that he’ll equally dislike. A college prestigious enough to match his family's name.

Damien may be the sole heir to one of the largest fortunes in America, but that doesn’t mean he has any control over it. The lawyers, guardians and legal aides who run the Thorn estate manage it all, save for the tiny sliver of a stipend he receives monthly, meaning that Damien has no say over where he goes next. 

He'll go wherever they want him to. He has no choice, it's all up to them, or, rather, as they say to him again and again, “it’s all _for_ him.”

And Damien hates that. Hates that he has no say in his future and, instead of going to a photography or journalism school like he wants to, he’s going to be forced to go elsewhere after he leaves this terrible place.

He wishes things were different. That life was different. 

* * *

Damien looks up and around the luxurious bar of the very grand building he was now drinking at. He'd heard some of the boys in his dorm talking about a bar they'd snuck out to a few nights ago. It was housed in some old, high-class hotel near the Pantheon, called the  _Grand Hotel de la Minerve_ , and, since he'd been particularly angry about his fate earlier that morning, Damien had decided to skip his afternoon classes and visit that bar for an evening of drinking away his sorrows. 

Most students had free-reign of the grounds after classes had ended, and he knew full well no one would notice if he was gone for a few hours.

The expansive room is dim, save for a massive, stained-glass skylight that illuminates the room in shades of blue and yellow. Through massive, arched doorways leading into the hotel's lobby, Damien can see it's still daylight outside, which explains the relative emptiness of the establishment. He was very aware to the fact that the night crowd didn't roll around till much later in the evening. 

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he catches a figure strutting into the room from one of the lobby archways. 

He blinks as he stares at her.  _She's stunning_ ; wavy auburn hair that falls gracefully onto her shoulders; brown gemstones that serve as her eyes; lush, full lips painted in a color of red that curve into a seductive smile as she steps into the room; a curvy, slim figure that's wrapped in a black, satin gown. A diamond brooch radiates just above her breasts, completing the alluring aura she commands with confidence. 

Perhaps the most beautiful woman he's every seen in his life, Damien can't help but continue to stare cluelessly at her with wide, admiring eyes as she passes into the room. 

Amused by his behavior, she winks at him as she glides by, taking a seat at the bar a few stools away from him. "A martini," she orders softly to the waiter behind the counter, who quickly serves her one, equally taken back by her beauty. 

She sips it gently, occasionally glancing over at Damien with inviting eyes, and soon, before he knows it, he finds himself exiting his own chair and slipping into the uninhabited one beside her. 

"Hello," he whispers to her. Looking closer at her face, he realizes there is something familiar about her. As if he's seen those same captivating, yet piercing, eyes before at some point in his life. 

"Aren't you a little young to be drinking at a bar, my dear?" she teases him, taking another taste of her drink. 

"I'm eighteen," he replies.

"And what brings a good-looking eighteen-year-old such as yourself to a lonely bar like this one?" 

"I'm just looking for a good drink." She glances down at his drink, and they both know he hasn't had a drop of the liquid within, but she lets it pass. "You?" 

"I have my reasons." She reeks of mystery. Her tone, her behavior, the way she looks at him. . . it all has an air of secrecy to it. It makes her only even more intriguing to Damien. 

"I saw you coming in," he blurts after a moment, prompting her to look at him even more intently. "You're so beautiful." 

"You're not the first man who's told me that." She leaves him hanging as she takes another sip of her drink, slowly, with purposeful care. "I'm old enough to be your _mother_ , my dear." 

"You don't look it," his eyes scale her body before resuming their original position: fixed on her face. "You're not from Italy are you? Your accent is American." 

"You're correct. So is yours. I suppose we share that in common." 

A silence resumes between the two, before after a few moments Damien asks, "What's your name?" 

"Ann." 

"Damien."

She offers him her hand. "A pleasure to meet you, _Damien_." With her other hand, she flags down the waiter for a refill of her drink. "So,  _Damien_ , what's the real reason you're here?"

He looks away for a moment. Usually he's a secretive person who doesn't share his emotions with even those whom he might consider a friend, let alone a complete stranger. But for some reason, he wants to tell Ann everything about him. She has an allure that causes his soul to beg to tell her his deepest and darkest emotions. He feels he can trust her. "Stress" he finally mutters, choosing to keep it brief despite what his soul is screaming to him. "I'm here because of stress." 

"Ah," she meets the fresh liquid just brought before her to her lips. "And what kind of stress might that be?" 

"Life stress. School stress," he pauses, "and you? What's your real reason." 

She smiles. "I wanted to see someone I haven't seen in a very long time." Damien's gaze falls as he watches her hand break away from the clasp of her drink and slide across the counter to converge with his. Like a serpent, the palm of her hand slithers over the top of his hand. The touch of her skin is icy and frosty. . . but yet strangely, to Damien, inviting. It pulls him in. He looks up at her as Ann leans in towards his ear. "Follow me," she whispers. 

He remains speechless, only the nod of his head serving as a reply before he finds himself being led out of the bar by her grasp as she directs him through the brightly-lit lobby and directly into the bathroom of the lobby, a luxurious, clean room that's empty save for their presence. She locks the door behind them. "Have you ever had made love before?" she asks him as she looks at him intently, all-the-while unzipping the back of her gown with the tips of her fingers. 

"Uh, n-no," is all he can bring himself to mutter, the excitement at what is happening rippling through his body and preventing him from saying anything more. He can already feel himself grow hard just thinking about Ann's lips touching his own. 

"Then I'll be your first," she grins as her gown falls to the marble floor. With nothing left shielding her body, displaying her nude figure to him fully, she glides forward and meets their lips together. A shiver tingles down his spine as they collide into one, and he cups the palm of his hand around her the rear of her neck, pulling her closer. She rests her own hand against his cheek. 

As she does so, her other hand slips down and over his stomach, taking care to feel the defined muscles of his youthful body, eventually finding it's way to the bulge just above his legs. . .

" _I_ _t's all for you Damien_ ," he can hear her mutter under he breath. Just then he lets out a moan of pleasure. 

* * *

Damien runs his finger through his sandy-blonde hair as he walks through the now-crowded hotel lobby, his breath still excited from the passionate encounter he'd just had. His body is sweaty, and his clothes are wrinkled from having been tossed onto the floor only an hour before. His heels click against the polished floors as he takes step after step, but he stops just before the glass doors that lead out of the building. He turns around and takes one last look at her. . . 

Ann Rutledge smiles back at him, standing not far off near the lobby elevators. Her arms are folded and, despite her hair being slightly messy, she still looks as beautiful as she did when he first saw her enter through those doors into the bar.  She watches as he disappears onto the street a second later. 

As soon he's gone, a figure suddenly appears from behind her. He walks up beside her. "What did you just do?" His voice is dripping with displeasure.

"I had to see him," she says, her eyes still fixated on the spot where she'd last seen him.

"You've jeopardized everything, Ann. If he remembers you, everything will-"

"Worry not, John. I slipped something into his drink before he left. Damien won't remember any of this. He won't remember meeting me or what we did. The plan will continue on just like it did before." 


End file.
